


Caught Before Charcoal

by cydonic



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, F/F, Rucy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-22
Updated: 2012-06-22
Packaged: 2017-11-08 06:57:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/440407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cydonic/pseuds/cydonic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rachel Berry was her downfall - again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caught Before Charcoal

**Author's Note:**

> Superhero!AU, written for the Glee Big Bang. Many thanks to my beta, freakishsweetheart@tumblr for all of her help. Gif made by me. Enjoy!

Columbus, Ohio; The Unholy Trinity ran the city.

No one knew their names, only letters: Q, S, and B. They were often acknowledged as simply The Trinity. They were the villains of Columbus. If there was drug smuggling, weapons deals, crime anywhere, it all came back to them somehow.

Anyone who tried to break in on their turf wound up in very _uncomfortable_ positions.

The following people were about to find themselves in one of those mentioned uncomfortable positions: Damien Grey, Rebecca Ragen, and Ash Birksfeld; two young men and a woman who thought that they might come into Columbus and start selling their wares on the street.

B had been the first to approach them, as she usually did. As far as villains went, B was not the best. She was more of a persuasive addition to the group - dolled up as she was in a short skirt and low top, soft blonde curls rolling down lightly tanned shoulders. She had pulled the leader of the three, Damien, off to the side. She’d whispered in his ear threats disguised as suggestions, walking away with a teasing sway to her hips.

But they hadn’t stopped.

Quite the opposite - they had expanded their operation.

The Trinity already had various dealers for various drugs and other illicit goods, and what they did not need was another stepping on their toes. The prices were stable, the dealers had protection, and The Trinity got their cut; everyone was happy.

B did not often come out on jobs like these. Her talents were in healing when the others returned to base, which could be any one of the many apartments and houses they owned in Columbus.

The drug dealers were performing their biggest deal yet. Outside it was raining, and they’d taken it into a warehouse. S crouched down on a stack of crates, eyes trained on the men (and woman) gathered below them. The buyer was set-up by The Trinity themselves, and simply had to draw the deal out long enough for them to swoop in and take the dealers out.

Q stood behind S, cloaked in shadows. “They don’t think anything’s wrong.” Q whispered, voice carrying only to her companion. S nodded - it was hardly a movement at all.

Some of the light below caught Q’s outfit: a teal bodysuit, shimmery in the low light, black corset binding her chest, low-denier tights and black leather gloves. S’s ensemble was similar, only the bodysuit was a rich burgundy and did not contain the same shimmer. Covering the faces of the girls were glossy black masks, stopping just above their mouths. The main focus of their ensemble was a letter, embroidered on the corset – a looping _Q_ for Quinn, and a bold _S_ for Santana.

Visible mouths that, at that moment, bore two different expressions; one was an excited smirk, and the other was opened just a little, caught on the start of a word.

The other things that happened in the same moment included their hired man _and_ the dealers drawing guns on their position, and Gold Star stepping into the room.

“Shit.” S cursed, and Q silently shared that sentiment.

“Hands up!” Gold Star - also known as Rachel Berry, the ‘hero’ of Columbus - called out to them. She was armed, signature bow and arrow trained on their location. Q flinched at her appearance – Rachel was, to be blunt, a sore point from her past. S turned her head a little, the soft light marring the frown she wore, but Q knew what she thought all the same: _‘Still caught up on Berry?’_

The Gold Star of her name was emblazoned proudly on her chest, bright and bold against the black backdrop of her mini dress. Though her eyes, too, were covered, Rachel made no secret of her identity.

Out of respect for her and the game, The Unholy Trinity had yet to finish her off. This was what they did. Heroes needed villains, villains needed heroes. Made the world go around.

That’s what Q told herself at night, at least. That she kept Rachel alive just so that their game would continue on. It was nothing more than that.

“She’s angry. Excited, though - almost. Exhilarated?” Q breathed, eyes closed as she felt out the emotions she knew _so well_ (so why hadn’t she seen Rachel coming, _damn it_ , this wasn’t supposed to happen – she was getting slack). “Move.” (For any interested parties that was the word she had been meaning to say earlier, when they had been about to bust the deal.)

It seemed they were playing seriously this time because as soon as S moved, the Gold Star fired. The arrow had been trained on S’s old position, and Q – planning on moving to higher ground and taking out some of the dealers whilst S dealt with Gold Star - ran right into its path. Her momentum was so great that she couldn’t stop - all she could do was turn and look at the arrow flying directly at her, the tip a signature star shape, painted bright gold, reminding her of gold stars from high school days and less of a lethal weapon.

And then she was struck and dropped.

When Q next opened her eyes, all the lights were out. She sat up and immediately regretted that decision, groaning, a hand flying to her stomach. The arrow was lodged there and, “Fuck,” that _hurt_.

Outside she could hear sounds, sense the mixture of emotions (rage, pain, fury, _joy_ ), and she knew that she was lucky to have remained undetected. From what Q could judge by the moonlight filtering in through a cracked roof panel, she’d not only been hit, but had fallen down onto a lower stack of crates. B was going to have a great time looking that one over.

“Focus.” Q said on an exhale, hand fisting around the shaft of the arrow. She drew in a breath, ignoring the pain, trying to steady herself before she pulled.

Thankfully the arrow hadn’t lodged _too_ deep in her stomach and it came out in one piece.

Didn’t stop it hurting.

Q actually let out a sob, muffling it by jamming her free fist in her mouth, biting hard on the knuckles.

She had to go.

Getting to her feet was strenuous enough. Q’s hands shook, seeking something to grip on the smooth concrete walls. She was panting heavily, and what she could see was blurred.

Just get a cab.

Get to the street and get a cab.

Q kept that in mind, going through her head like a mantra: cab, cab, cab, get a cab.

She dropped down off of the crates with less elegance than she would’ve liked, cursing and dropping to one knee. Damn it. _Fuck it_. Just get out to the street and she would be fine. Slowly the emotional mayhem outside had dulled. Most of the parties involved had left - Q could still detect S, her unique form of joy at inflicting pain on others (Schadenfreude, Q often joked, was what the S stood for) and Rachel – Gold Star. She always had this funny feeling around her emotions; fuzzy and gold and familiar, in a strange way.

Q didn’t dwell on it. She just couldn’t afford to.

She couldn’t just walk out when they were fighting, though. Now that her eyes were adjusting to the light, Q took a better look around the room. There was a door on the other side of the building that she could exit through, but she would look a little suspicious in her current attire.

Q pried open a box, hoping for some miracle - that there’d be a stash of clothing there she could change into and then summon help. The first crate had pots in it, the terracotta dulled by the moonlight. Q cursed, and then started repeating the same procedure over and over: check crate, curse, and move on to the next. Get closer each time to the cab, closer to getting back to B who would heal her with a smile and a touch.

By the time she reached the last crate (cheap wooden carvings) Q knew she was out of luck.

Swallowing her pride, she came to a decision. Inside the final crate was some rough cloth which she pulled out and lay by her side. Then, slowly, she stripped off her clothes. The movement it took to get out of skin-tight clothing meant that taking them off with a puncture wound in her stomach was nearly impossible. Nausea rolled in her stomach, but Q wouldn’t give in - she _couldn’t_ give in.

Sweat rolled off her pale skin and her vision swam as she removed her mask - the last piece - and tossed it into the crate. The Trinity were in charge of the warehouse, used it for storage of a variety of goods (more illegal than not, the common wares they had here were just to satisfy prying eyes) so no one would find the bloody clothes.

Drawing the cloth around her body, cursing how coarse it was, Q stepped outside.

She hadn’t realised how _wrong_ everything was until she stepped outside. The fresh air didn’t help her nausea at all, and each step she took was like driving the arrow into her flesh over and over again. Q made it three steps before falling to her knees, and vomiting behind a bin in the alley. For a moment she couldn’t breathe, her eyes watering and throat burning, blood already soaking through the hessian. In the distance she could see the street - cabs driving by, looking for customers. She wanted to curse, but the words were too thick, too heavy, and all she could manage was a groan.

A groan that caught someone’s attention.

Q hadn’t had the energy to devote to focussing on her surroundings, but now that she did she could feel it. Curiosity. Then footsteps, though they struggled against the wave of terrible sound in her ears.

This was her last chance.

Q gripped the cloth in one hand, barely covering her body, and began to crawl towards the street. She couldn’t let herself be found like this – not by the person she could sense gaining on her prone form. But that was even harder than walking had been, and she managed to claw herself a few inches closer to safety before collapsing. The world spun around her, eyes falling closed against her will.

“Are you okay?” The words were struck by the overwhelming roar in her ears, pulled under and mangled. _Sympathy_ , she felt that.

Q would know that voice anywhere. But out of all the emotion she could feel, none of it suggested that she had been recognised. That was the best she could hope for.

“Hey, talk to me.” Q was rolled over - a ragdoll, unable to fight back. Rachel had removed her mask, she noticed. Q smiled, just a little.

There was worry and concern. “Mugged.” Q breathed, managing that one word despite her stomach threatening to revolt against her again, hoping that explanation would drive any suspicion about her identity away.

Rachel’s mouth fell open. “Oh - oh my God. Here, let me help you.”

There was no ill-will there – not even the sense that something here was just not right. All Q felt was worry, and urge to help and repair.

As she fell unconscious again, Q wondered how one person could be so completely, unreasonably _good_.

\---

_As a child she had looked forward to seeing Rachel each and every day. The brunette was tiny (still was, Quinn thought with a vaguely nostalgic smile) but as bright as the sun. Quinn used to keep to herself in the care facility, reading books curled up in a giant beanbag, or making towering buildings out of the blocks, or painting some landscape, but it was always alone. Back then she’d been Lucy – a little chubby that might be leftover baby fat, might be a sedentary lifestyle (Quinn’s mother had been sure it was a little of both, had signed her up to the program in hopes someone else might encourage her daughter into a healthier lifestyle), ratty brown hair that she perpetually chewed on, and oversized glasses._

_Who would want to hang out with a girl like that? She’d been such a… a loser. Her parents had too many commitments to care for her after school – they had jobs and church and Frannie to look after. So Lucy had spent every day after school sitting around in the after school care building, surrounded by children with parents who legitimately wanted to spend time with their children but they couldn’t fit it in._

_Then Rachel had come into her life._

_Quinn could remember it so vividly._

_The tiny girl had sat down beside her as Quinn read, snuggling right up against her and poking her head straight in Lucy’s line of sight. “Whatcha reading?” she’d asked, and that had been the start of it. Lucy had been happy to have someone willing to talk to her, and Rachel was surprisingly good company. She’d told Lucy all about her recitals, about the trophies she had at home – “one day you can come over and my Dad’s and I will put on a show for you” and Quinn could remember being so confused because who had two dads?_

_But Lucy hadn’t told her to leave. She’d needed that. Someone who liked her._

\---

There had been a time, when Quinn was younger, where she had gotten an awful fever. Though she had only slept through one night, it had stretched on into an eternity - dreams that were disjointed, displaced, long and tedious and never _quite_ ending because she never _quite_ reached that destination.

This felt like another fever dream. She would stir, eyelids feeling too heavy to open, mouth moving on words that needed saying, but could not be said. Quinn didn’t know if she managed to say it, or if she’d said it many times, but there was this constant, pressing need to tell Rachel something; “No hospitals.” She couldn’t risk them finding out about her. Though the chances were low, out of costume as she was, it was still a possibility.

On several occasions Quinn could have sworn she’d felt Rachel patting her hair back, cooing softly to her as she desperately tried to communicate. “It’s fine.” echoed in her mind, laid over time and again, the sound stretching back as if it had come from the very beginnings of Earth. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’ll look after you.” And those words, out of all of them, came through crystal clear; they weren’t covered by the fog that plagued all her other thoughts and dreams.

They gave Quinn relief and she slept.

\---

_And Rachel had liked her._

_They were best friends after one day. Rachel refused to do anything without Lucy by her side. They ate together, played together, and at the end of the day they would beg to be around one another more. They had every afternoon together, sometimes free to do what they wanted, and on others they were roped into group activities with the rest of the children in the centre._

_It hadn’t been so long after that met – two weeks at the most, really – when the centre had been arranged for an arts and crafts day. They happened whenever the staff could be bothered – some days the kids were just left to make their own fun, but there was one particular employee who went all out. She’d taken charge this afternoon: tables were pushed together and covered in plastic so they wouldn’t get dirty, a tiny block of clay ready for each enrolled child, and bowls filled with paint and glitter and sequins were everywhere._

_Rachel had Lucy’s hand in hers, and she sat them both down at the end of the line of tables. “We should make something.” Rachel stated, and Lucy smiled because wasn’t that the point? But Rachel had her tongue between her teeth, and was poking and prodding the clay with one hand. At last she released Quinn’s hand so that she could pick up the clay, and start to form it. “Into something that matches.” She added, contemplatively._

_Lucy gingerly picked up her own block of clay – cold and slimy – and began to shape it. “Why don’t we make a necklace?” Lucy asked quietly, picking apart the clay and rolling two small balls, before moulding the point of the heart in place. Rachel was still rolling her clay around on the desk, face screwed up as she tried to decide on her own shape. “Like this.” Lucy said, holding out to her the lopsided heart._

_Rachel’s smile grew suddenly, and she fingered the heart gently, leaving a tiny imprint of her finger there. “That’s perfect! We can give each other our hearts.” Rachel said, nodding resolutely, and Lucy just stared at her._

_“You want my heart?” She asked in a small voice, smoothing out the edges of her own work, eyes trained on that and_ away _from Rachel._

_“Of course I do.” Rachel said, biting her lip as one curve of the heart was bigger than the other, working hard to even it. “I love you.” She said with absolute conviction, and Lucy felt herself blush bright red. “Do you love me?” Rachel asked, placing a hand on her shoulder, leaving clay-grey fingerprints there._

_Lucy mumbled a little at her work. “Yes. I do.” She said at last, and felt as if she was telling the absolute truth. Lucy smiled timidly. “I love you. I think I will for a long time.”_

_“Well I’ll love you forever.” Rachel said, taking it as if it was a challenge._

_“I’ll love you too.” Quinn said, smiling timidly. “Forever.”_

\---

The pain was not gone when Quinn awoke. Far from it - the pain was the thing that woke her. It was a constant agony, made worse when she had rolled over in her sleep. Waking up, in that moment, felt like the worst thing in the world. Quinn’s mouth was dry, though her skin was soaked with sweat. Each breath hurt, as though she was forcing her lungs out with a hot poker. She coughed and it was, honestly, the worst idea she’d ever had - and Quinn _had_ been Q, infamous super villain, one of the three who controlled Columbus, so bad ideas were now her forte.

Well, she was _still_ Q, only now... temporarily out of business.

“Good afternoon.” A gentle voice chimed, and Quinn drew in another sharp breath - bad idea.

If coughing the first time was bad, the ensuing coughing fit Quinn suffered was worse than being shot. Tears leaked out the corner of her eyes, despite how tightly she kept them shut. Her hands were fisted in the sheets (Quinn, at that moment, did not have time to dwell on why she had a bed) and, in between coughs she made the most pitiful noise ever heard.

Weak. She was so weak – it was pathetic.

“Hey, hey, breathe.” Came the voice again, and Quinn let the soft hands smooth out her tense muscles. She focused all her energy on opening her eyes, and was at last rewarded with a fuzzy image of the room around her. All that was in focus was the body hovering over her - tanned skin, brown hair, blue shirt. The background was a mixture of many different colours, but dull – as if all the life had been drained out of them.

It was then that Quinn remembered. Gold Star. _Rachel_. The cause of her agonising pain.

One of Rachel’s hands slid beneath her back, slowly trying to lift her up. Quinn clenched her teeth, but tried not to make a fuss. “I’ve got you some water, okay? It’ll help.” Sure enough there was glass pressed against her bottom lip. Quinn opened her mouth, and was carefully fed a tiny mouthful of water. Once she proved that she could drink that, Rachel gave her more.

It felt like an eternity, but soon Quinn had finished the whole glass. Her throat felt better for it, if nothing else. “Thank you.” Quinn croaked, voice barely above a whisper.

Rachel took it well, though. “It’s fine. I couldn’t just leave someone out on the streets like that.”

  
Quinn blinked sluggishly, vision slowly clearing. She watched Rachel come into focus, putting the glass down on the bedside table and then returned to Quinn. “I can’t believe that anybody would do such things to a human being. Stripping you of everything - your clothing...” She shook her head, disgust apparent. “It must be The Trinity behind this.”

Quinn actually felt herself shudder when Rachel mentioned them. “Don’t worry, don’t worry.” Rachel said, misinterpreting her gesture as something akin to fear. She laid a tanned hand on Quinn’s cheek. “I’ll protect you. Just sleep.”

Comforted, though she wouldn’t admit it, Quinn gave in to sleep.

\---

_That had been where everything went wrong._

_Because Quinn was sure her parents were already a bit nervous about her coming home and not being as sullen as always but excited, telling them about Rachel – dropping words like love when she was too young to know better (or maybe the point had been that she was young enough to know the truth about love, to not yet be as jaded and cynical as she was now) – but they let it go because she was only seven, it wasn’t serious._

_But then Lucy had come back in to the Christian household, and after they said grace at dinner, decided to tell her parents about Rachel’s two dads who had invited her – and how_ cool _was that, having two dads? Lucy had been gushing, the freshly painted (but left to dry, of course) heart resting near her own._

_She’d never gone back there again._

_Lucy had cried into her pillow all night because she could have been singing and dancing with Rachel and her parents. Instead she had eaten dinner in silence, done her homework, and been sent straight to bed._

_That was what you did when you were a Fabray._

\---

It was like the fever dreams again, only this time there was someone there to save her. Whenever it became too much, Quinn would find herself awoken by a gentle hand and kind words.

Rachel was always there. Quinn couldn't figure out why. What did she stand to gain, helping her? As far as Quinn knew, Rachel thought her just a poor girl, mugged on the street. Why not just dump her in the hospital (despite Quinn's request otherwise) and continue on being her usual, heroic self? She didn’t know who Quinn really was – didn’t know how Quinn really felt about her. All she had was a stranger in her bed to care for.

What concerned Quinn more than how nice Rachel appeared to be acting towards her, was how she just couldn't _tell_ otherwise. Quinn relied on her extra senses perhaps a little too much. When uninjured Quinn could sense the emotions of others - at peak condition she could manipulate them. Right now, though, she had nothing - she was contained in her own little bubble of pain, unable to _feel_ anything beyond that.

For all she knew, Rachel could be waiting to hand her over to the authorities – she could know her identity and Quinn would be none the wiser.

The kindness in her eyes and smile and touch just felt too _real_ for that, and so Quinn banished those thoughts to the back of her mind and indulged in Rachel’s touch a little longer.

Everyone deserved a chance to be selfish.

\---

_Things had not gotten easier when Quinn finally got to high school. She had worked for years to perfect her image, and so long as what she wanted to be reflected well upon her family and their strict Christian values, her father didn’t care. She could get plastic surgery (though to alter the body the Lord had given you was a sin) and dye her hair, and she would work until she passed out to get the ideal body. She wanted to be the golden girl – the perfect one._

_People respected you when you were beautiful and skinny. They looked up to you and admired you. They wanted to be you – and that was something Quinn had never experienced. It had always been the other way around – Quinn wanting to be like someone else. Always wanting. She’d wanted the intelligence that Rachel had had – her amazing singing voice, her wonderful, kind parents, her personality that was like the sun coming out to warm you on a cold day, her love._

_Even now, Quinn wondered if Rachel still thought of her. Did she remember that girl from so many years ago? The dorky one, the one nobody had liked? The one who had loved her – the one Rachel had promised to love forever?_

_Probably not. Quinn convinced herself she didn’t remember Rachel either, and that the necklace meant nothing._

\---

"How long have I been out?" Quinn asked after days of torturous dreams and not-dreams, feeling as if she'd never been so clear-headed before. The clarity was strange – unfamiliar to her now. The world felt as though it should be fuzzy by default, not so vivid and sharp.

Rachel had been there every single time she woke up. "Two days." She said with a smile. "And a half? I found you at night and it's morning now, so..." The brunette shrugged. She was still in her pyjamas, Quinn noticed with a faint smile of her own. What she wouldn’t have given so many years ago to wake up to this – what she wouldn’t give _now_ to be a part of Rachel’s life so intimately.

"Right." She replied, having never known two (and a half) days to feel so _long._ "Thank you. For... all of this." Quinn waved an arm at her bandaged midriff, invisible beneath a borrowed hoodie but for the distinctive bulge. "For not handing me in...” Quinn added, swallowing down a painful lump in her throat.

"Handing you in?" Quinn thought she sensed some confusion, but that was obvious from Rachel's expression. "Oh - you mean the hospital? It's fine. I was going to, though, if you didn't start improving. And I didn’t ask earlier – I haven’t really had a chance – but what was your name?"

Quinn felt her stomach drop out. What did she say? Quinn could be easily linked to Q – how many names started with Q, after all? – and there was always the possibility that Rachel would remember her from McKinley. It was a split-second decision – maybe not the best Quinn had ever made – but she blurted out the name Rachel was least likely to recognise: “Lucy.”

"Well, Lucy, I’m Rachel. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Rachel said, and she appeared genuine. For a second Rachel looked thoughtful, and Quinn truly dreaded what she might fine, and then she changed to what was a more pressing topic to her: "Might I ask why you didn't want to go to the hospital?"

Quinn's immediate reaction was to say no, that Rachel couldn't know, but she owed her _something_. "I've just... had some bad times in my past." Rachel looked offended, and Quinn tried to raise a hand to comfort her. "It's nothing now. You just... sometimes want to forget your past, you know?"

A hurt expression crossed Rachel's features, and Quinn felt her pain pierce the emotional barrier around her. "I know." Rachel said in a small voice. "Don't worry. I know." She managed a tiny smile, and Quinn let relief flood her body – there was no more curiosity in Rachel’s expression now (if it was there, it was well-hidden), just blind faith in Quinn – Lucy.

Quinn watched as Rachel's hand crossed the bed, inching towards her own. Quinn felt her arm shake as her hand closed the distance between them.

They held hands in silence whilst Quinn contemplated just how much they had in common – even after all of this time.

\---

_Quinn was envious. Not only of Rachel, though the tiny girl had been her first real – love wasn’t the word, despite what they’d said to one another. Crush? Perhaps, in a childish way. That had been the start of it, when Quinn had come to view the differences between her and another person as something vital – the social structure, something she needed to have to be happy. Because Rachel had had power from her love – Quinn would have done anything to please her. Quinn now needed that power, that control._

_From there it had only gotten worse. The teenager she passed in the street had the hair colour she desired, though the lady working checkout had the length and style. The girl at the top of her class had the good grades and the cheer captain had the body and the respect. Quinn wanted all of that, and her parents had been too happy to provide. They wanted that admiration and respect as much as Quinn did. They wanted people to see their family as perfect and ideal and the iconic American dream. Frannie had been perfect, and Quinn was finally – finally – looking as if she’d turn out the same way._

_So when Quinn had walked into McKinley High School on that first day of her freshman year, she didn't know what she'd been expecting. Part of her expectations had come true: as soon as she set foot in the school, she was turning heads. People were looking at her - people were intrigued by her, this beautiful blonde. Within minutes she'd found herself handpicked by Sue Sylvester, the cheerleading coach at the school. Quinn had had her arm grabbed (toned, but not obscenely muscled) and pulled straight out to the oval. Apparently this was how it went - on the first day the woman would hunt down potential candidates for the Cheerios, and bring them out to try out - even if they didn't want to be a part of the team._

_Quinn, of course, was overjoyed at the opportunity. She wanted to be a Cheerio - it was a status symbol, akin to being a football player for a boy. Starting off her high school career on the team would only help further her success. And with the experience Quinn had racked up through her primary and middle school careers, she made it onto the team instantly. So did two other girls Sue had picked out - Brittany and Santana. The former was a tall blonde with the most amazing gymnastic abilities - she was flipping left and right, cartwheeling without her hands, and putting on a one woman show. Of course_ she _had gotten in._

_Santana was a bit different - even at their young age, Santana was the one to bring the sex appeal to the team. Her outfit for the day pushed the boundaries of the strict school dress code, and though she could flip and dance as well as any of them, it was her body language that would reel people in. Santana, Quinn knew already, would be the one to bring the attention - to put the pep into the pep rallies._

_Quinn didn't know how she could define herself. She wasn't the expert dancer and gymnast Brittany was, nor the saucy creature Santana portrayed herself as. Quinn was the sweet all-American girl, the one boys’ would love to bring home to their parents and show off. She had the qualities of a leader, of someone to follow and be proud of._

_Brittany and Santana fell into step behind her as they proceeded to investigate the school on their first day. They passed by the boys all trying out for the football team, eyes roaming the figures to spot the ones they might like. A few stopped to glance their way - a strangely tall, but very sweet looking boy, and then one beside him with a Mohawk who punched his friend and yelled something not entirely appropriate at them._

_Santana swayed her hips a little more as they walked away._

\---

When Quinn was awake, Rachel was normally waiting to feed her or give her some water. It had taken a while for Quinn to muster up the strength to try some food - just some crackers and a bowl of strangely delicious yoghurt. But Rachel was always there, patience embodied, and a kind smile permanently on her face.

If only Rachel knew.

If only Rachel knew that, right now, she was helping her sworn enemy, the woman who caused her trouble every day, every week - undid all the good Rachel was doing. The woman who had, years ago, promised that she would love her forever. And in a way, she still did.

Getting injured didn’t really inspire Quinn into looking at her life and changing it for the better. No, she had every intention of returning to her previous world as soon as she was able. Quinn needed the power being in The Trinity gave her - she was nothing without it, and she knew that. After all her tormented years of school, Quinn was finally in charge. No one would talk back to her now - no one would throw slushies in her face or call her names; _fatty_ , _whore_ , _slut_.

Quinn couldn’t give that up - she couldn’t go back to being some nameless girl on the street. Her life didn’t have a purpose if there weren’t people looking up to her - awed and inspired and _scared_ of her.

The same way she’d been scared of them so many years ago.

Quinn Fabray was a bad person, and no amount of kindness would change that.

\---

_Quinn had found her place already - the popular group, that was where she belonged. And it looked as if the three of them had founded it for the year, already getting sidelong glances in the hall from popular and unpopular students alike._

_One girl caught Quinn's eye though._

_Brunette, smaller than average, and wearing quite a frumpy outfit. There was this sudden recognition, and those days spent singing together at their day care centre came rushing back to her. Quinn actually missed her next step, stumbling forward a little. Her eyes locked with Rachel's, and she swallowed. Rachel looked right past her, and then turned to try and figure out her locker._

_Quinn felt like she’d been punched in the stomach – this sudden, raw pain that enveloped everything, and she was sure the people in the hall would all feel it because it was_ agony _._

_But what had she wanted? Rachel was clearly the sort of company Lucy would have kept. She wasn’t popular. Santana mimed gagging as they passed her by, and Quinn had to laugh along. Quinn couldn’t have been friends with Rachel even if she wanted to – and she didn’t want to, she didn’t._

_Rachel telling her that she would love her forever was just a stupid, childish mistake, and Quinn was a fool for believing her._

\---

As Quinn recovered their conversations expanded beyond the usual, “Hungry? Thirsty?” from Rachel and the, “yes” or “no” from Quinn.

At first it was light-hearted stuff - Quinn figured it was nice to ask Rachel about her day, and she was incredibly talkative on that matter. It seemed like nothing was sacred - she’d talk about people she’d arrested, or what she’d bought at the shops that day (she was a vegan, Quinn noted, though the reasons she did so escaped her). Her work - the superhero work, not the musical coaching she did at a local school work - was a good subject to pick. Rachel liked sharing, and Quinn could relate enough to follow along.

On one particular evening Rachel came into her room, still in uniform, and dropped down into the seat at Quinn’s bedside. Quinn smiled softly, ignoring the feeling of fear that went through her at the sight of that outfit. Though The Trinity had always come out on top, Rachel had always been a formidable opponent - Quinn’s current condition was testament to that. More worrying than that was the likelihood of Rachel getting hurt now. Quinn liked to be around, to ensure that Santana didn’t get too caught up in the fight and end it – permanently. She was protective of Rachel only because she was the only thing keeping her and The Trinity afloat – the villains needed a hero.

“Rough night?” Quinn asked.

Rachel smiled, stretching her arms up and behind her head, rolling her shoulders. “Trinity stuff. Not much out of the ordinary.” Rachel pulled her bow and arrows off her back, checking them for - well, something. Quinn wasn’t entirely sure, but she watched with fascination as Rachel worked.

“Trinity?” Quinn was curious as to how Rachel felt about them - obviously there was some bad blood between the group and the supposed hero, but hearing it in the brunette’s own words would be fascinating.

Rachel grimaced. “The Unholy Trinity? You haven’t heard of them?” She looked honestly surprised by this – and Quinn could understand that. _Everyone_ in Columbus knew about The Trinity. Three powered girls appear out of nowhere, giving Rachel a new challenge mere days after she had defeated Adrenaline kingpin Jesse St. James.

People with powers were rare - not entirely unheard of, but not a common occurrence. For three to appear at once was a formidable threat, and considering most with powers avoided showing them (if they were caught there would be numerous scientific facilities falling over themselves to get precious test subjects) there was hardly anyone to stop them.

Letting Rachel triumph over them (in the loosest terms possible) had been the only way to guarantee their continued existence. Pose too much of a threat and the big guns get brought in - allow the villain/hero back and forth and people support you. The press benefited from continued stories, and that really seemed to be all that mattered to them. No authorities stepped in so long as innocent civilians weren’t being slaughtered left and right - and that really wasn’t their style anyway.

“I only just got here. New start.” Quinn offered, and Rachel gave her that sympathetic look again - not that Quinn couldn’t _feel_ the compassion coming off of her. As she healed, Rachel’s emotions started to come through with greater clarity - not yet manipulable, but that would come with time.

“They’re a three man - or woman, I guess - crime group in town.” Rachel explained, having picked an arrow out of her quiver, toying with it in her hands. “They generally keep a handle on smaller criminals: drug dealers, gangs, burglars, things like that.”

Quinn made a show of nodding her head, a slow ‘ah’ signalling that she understood. “And you fight them?”

Rachel smiled, somewhat sheepishly. “I try to. You gotta do what you gotta do.” She said, shrugging one shoulder and pressing the point of the arrow into her finger - hard enough to leave a lasting, star-shaped impression, but not to break the skin.

“Why did you want to be a... a hero, I guess?” Quinn asked, no longer remembering her initial reason for inquiring (find out more information to give The Trinity the advantage), honestly interested in Rachel. It had been years since she’d seen the other girl – properly seen her – and for her to have changed so drastically? From Broadway star to Gold Star – it was unexpected.

Rachel laughed a little self-deprecating chuckle. Quinn sensed shame, masked as it was by her own pain. “There wasn’t much else I could do right, so I picked this.” Rachel mustered up a watery smile, setting her arrow back down on the ground with the rest. “Hungry?” She asked, clearly changing the topic.

Quinn decided to indulge her, just to abate some of that hurt Rachel was transmitting. “Sure.” Rachel got up and left, but the hurt hung heavy in the room, giving Quinn a headache.

To see someone so beautiful and talented,  to hear them think they weren’t worth it… it just wasn’t right. And there was nothing Quinn could do about it.

\---

_That hurt did not lessen as time went by._

_Quinn tried to fall into her routine more thoroughly, to avoid any chance of stumbling upon Rachel or some free time to think about the relationship they'd once had. Not that it had been much._

_She signed up to the most appropriate extracurricular activities for a girl such as herself: there was the Cheerios and the celibacy club, the McKinley high achievers club (which Quinn was in simply because of her results - she didn't actually attend the sessions for fear of being labelled a nerd, which she certainly was not) and the school committee. Quinn liked to have her feelers out - to be involved in every part of the school life. It was the only way she knew to keep herself safe. Be popular, be outgoing, be involved. That way you would know if someone hated you, or spoke poorly of you, and you could respond. You had power over the boys of the football team because whenever they watched you practice in those sinfully short skirts they forgot their own names, and they would do anything to get a little bit closer to pulling off those spanks._

_Whenever someone tried to publicly humiliate her, then, Quinn was prepared. She had formed an army of people around her. Finn had become quarterback of the football team, and so Quinn had deemed it appropriate for the two of them to date. They would be the high school power couple - it was only right that Quinn be in a relationship with someone so powerful, despite a lack of feeling on her part (How could anybody love a dolt like that? If it wasn't for the football team he'd be a complete failure). Quinn herself had been lined up to take captaincy of the Cheerios when their current captain left, and so the freshmen had flocked around her, hoping to leach off that coming popularity._

_But she could still feel it on them. She didn’t know what it was, or how she knew, but she could sense that these people did not like her. It was a terrible feeling, something that overwhelmed her whenever she walked down the hallway. There would be so many different emotions, all directed at her – malice and disgust and envy, sometimes even from the girls she considered her closest friends._

_Brittany and Santana were always at her sides. The girls were like her henchmen. Santana, for all she could be a seductive woman (and considering she was no more than fourteen, it was a testament to her strong will and good genetics), was also the fiercest fighter Quinn knew. Within their first term of high school Santana had already been in several fights, and never come out with more than a slap on the wrists. You didn't mess with the Cheerios - that was the golden rule at McKinley. Sue Sylvester took very good care of her girls, and it would be obscene to expect any to be suspended because of bad behaviour. Brittany was beautiful but also a bit slow, though she made up for that with her willingness to hook up with anyone who asked nicely enough - regardless of gender._

_And then there was Rachel._

_Rachel broke Quinn's heart a little more whenever they locked eyes in the hall._

_So she got mad. Unreasonably mad over something that happened years ago, that she shouldn’t even remember, let alone care about._

_And she retaliated, in the only way she knew how: with insults as they passed in the hall, slushies in the face, dirty looks. It was all Quinn Fabray could do, and she just hoped that watching Rachel’s spirit break everyday would heal her own ridiculous heart._

\---

Future discussions about The Unholy Trinity were few and far between. One night Rachel had come home with a cut on her cheek, holding up her (now ruined) cape to try and staunch the wound. “What happened?” Quinn asked, propping herself up in bed on her elbows - the movement still hurt, even after five days spent in Rachel’s caring company.

Rachel smiled - did she ever frown? The only time Quinn could remember was at McKinley, covered in slushie or after enduring _another_ verbal assault from the head Cheerio. Guilt settled in her stomach. “Got hit.”

“By who?” Quinn asked, reaching out a hand to brush against Rachel’s other cheek without thinking. The brunette blushed a little and Quinn pulled back.

“S.” Rachel answered - Quinn had known that would be the reply, as soon as she saw Rachel injured. And though she knew it was wrong, she still felt... bad that Santana had hurt Rachel.

That was a feeling Quinn tried to clamp down on as much as possible - it would only make things harder

“Who’s that?” Quinn asked, and this time she sensed no surprise from Rachel. They had established now that Quinn knew nothing of Columbus. Or, at least, of the conflict going on in town - the one everyone knew about, but no one spoke of. It was best to keep that act up, so that Rachel would never suspect a thing.

“Not sure, really.” Rachel admitted, pulling away the cape to check how her cheek was doing, only to find it still sluggishly bleeding. She held it back up again. “They have letters on their outfits. Q, S, and B. We - I mean, me, and some of my friends - we gave them names.” Rachel laughed a little at the thought of it, and that got Quinn _very_ interested.

“What do you call them?” Quinn asked, smiling a little.

Quinn’s smile seems to fuel Rachel’s, even though she cringed as the movement pulled at her cheek. “There’s Queen - she’s the head one, I guess.” Quinn nodded her head, feeling her heart swell. Queen? Rachel thought that. It was sweet – and the mere thought of Santana’s reaction made Quinn want to laugh. “Sidekick you can probably gather is the second in command one. She’s the one who hit me today.” Quinn actually had to work at suppressing a chuckle - sidekick? Santana would flip out. “Then there’s Bimbo. She doesn’t come out much. She’s normally the one to have a kind word with anyone breaking their rules before the other two step in. She came out tonight, though.” Bimbo - Quinn almost took some offence to that. Sure, Britt used her body to sway people to their side, but she wasn’t the slutty type. Back in high school she had been, but now she seemed content to spend most of her time hanging out with either Quinn or Santana. Their line of work didn’t give them too much opportunity for socialising anyway.

“I wonder what they’d do if they found out what you call them - seems kinda mean.” Quinn said, silently amused by how she could play this act so well - Rachel didn’t even know the things she was telling the apparent leader of her enemy group. “Except Queen - that’s... that’s quite nice, actually.”

Rachel shrugged, screwing up her face adorably with a frown. “Out of all of them, I guess she’s the nicest. It’s not that they’re particularly mean... Sidekick is the one to get violent. Queen normally just supervises, but I haven’t seen her around lately.” Quinn could sense Rachel’s perplexity, and gently tried to ease it away - to no avail. She was still too weak. Disgusting. It was for the best that Rachel didn’t think _too_ deep on these matters, as it would only end badly for Quinn if she was found out. Soon enough, though, Rachel shrugged, that line of thought dismissed. “Oh well. I doubt I’ll ever know what their motivations are.” She said, before getting up to go and clean her face, leaving Quinn to wonder how Rachel would react if she truly knew their motivations – or Quinn’s, at least.

\---

_Quinn and Finn had continued dating. Rachel continued getting bullied on a near-daily basis. Freshman year came and went._

_Keeping up appearances was what the Fabray's had always done, and Quinn couldn't break that tradition now._

_Or so she'd thought. All it had taken was one night - one night in which Quinn had been feeling fat and disgusting (she'd put on a pound, and Sue had called her out on it in front of the whole squad, and everyone in the hall had been laughing at her – silently, casting their feeling of she deserved it on to her and driving her to tears in the bathroom) and had a few too many wine coolers and she'd ruined everything._

_She had stared down at the pregnancy test, held tight in shaking hands - positive._

_There was little Quinn could do. She certainly couldn't get rid of the child - that wasn't right. The baby didn't deserve to suffer for the mistakes she had made. But she couldn't stay at McKinley - not when they'd soon discover her to be a teenage mother. She'd fall from the top of the social ladder, straight down - below where even Rachel Berry sat. And that was too far down. Quinn had been at the bottom, she'd fought tooth and nail to get to the top... she wasn't going to let all that hard work go to waste._

_Quinn had left McKinley without warning. One day she was there, and one day she was not. No one knew about the baby except her parents. They took her in again, disappointed, but agreed they would make it right. There could be no bad things said of the Fabray family - the very thought of it made Quinn's parents shudder. The Church would turn them away; leave them to deal with their sinful daughter alone. All their friends and colleagues would speak about them whilst they weren't there. Shame was the worst thing that could happen to them._

_Whilst Quinn was pregnant her mother home schooled her. Brittany and Santana didn't get to know why she'd really left - she'd cited a family emergency and simply disappeared. She'd dumped Finn, telling him that she couldn't keep up with him with all that was happening (partially true - she felt guilty and quite sick of maintaining the charade that she loved him). Quinn Fabray cut all ties at McKinley, and disappeared._

\---

The weather was unpredictable at best this time of year – that time when autumn became winter, but summer wouldn’t retreat without a fight. One day it could be sunny and look warm, only to betray you with a gust of wind that chilled you to the core. Then, for days, it would rain and rain and rain, and then go back to its usual, chilly self.

They’d been rather fortunate lately in that the weather had been holding up quite well – not that it mattered to Quinn, who stayed inside all day anyway, sleeping and trying to recover – but Rachel went out with great frequency.

It was late afternoon when it started to rain, a sprinkling that came and went every few minutes. As it grew darker, though, the rain came down – heavier and heavier. Soon Quinn could hear nothing but the pounding of rain on the roof, and the scenery outside the window was all but gone, distorted by sheets of rain.

Rachel was out there.

She shouldn’t be concerned, but she couldn’t help it. She’d already built herself this role – formed the identity around her body as easily as Quinn had been. Q was the villainess of Columbus, but she also cared for Rachel. She needed Rachel, as the moon needed the sun. One could not dominate. There needed to be a balance.

Quinn dragged herself into a sitting position, eyes trained on the door to her room, waiting for Rachel to come home.

She felt like a lost dog, requiring their owner to be around so that they could simply _live_. And, really, that’s what it was like now. Quinn would wake up and look around for Rachel, her eyes waiting to alight on that familiar form – always smiling and cheerful, despite outside circumstances. She could be hurt, it could be raining, and it could just be _one of those days_ and Rachel would still smile at her when she opened up her eyes.

But Quinn needed her for more than just that – whatever that was. She was, essentially, lost without Rachel. She needed the brunette to feed and water her, to help her to the bathroom (at first this had been met with a tired, embarrassed flush, but now Quinn can’t bring herself to care – if anything she looked forward to their walks). Right now she really was nothing without Rachel.

Oh, how the mighty could fall.

Quinn knew she should be outraged that this could happen to her. She was Q – just the sight of her, out the corner of ones’ eye, in that outfit that only _just_ caught the light drove fear through people. Petty criminals and organised gang members trembled alike. Even syndicates from outside Columbus, outside Ohio, had feared her and The Trinity.

She’d had the power she’d always desired snatched away from her with one arrow, and she didn’t really care that much.

Being normal like this was nice, in a way. Relaxing. She felt as if all the pressures from her past life – maintaining the security of the city, keeping their people in line, monitoring what Gold Star ( _Rachel_ ) was up to – were nothing, now. They were just the rain outside: loud, and irritating if she let it get that way, but entirely ignorable, except for the effect it had on those close to her.

Which, as of right now, happened to be Rachel.

As soon as she opened the door, Quinn knew she was ridiculously attuned to the presence of the other woman. Her face lit up, almost against her will (but not quite), as Rachel stepped into the room. She was wet – soaked, in fact – and Quinn’s eyes scanned her figure, hunting down any kind of injury. Apart from the shivers, Rachel was outwardly fine. Her suit was stuck to her, the already skin-tight fabric now shimmering in the light, sultry.

Quinn swallowed, and her eyes jumped up to meet Rachel’s, a stab of some raw emotion striking her in that moment – it felt the same way Rachel’s eyes felt, dark and staring into her.

“Wet out there, huh?” Quinn said, fumbling to find her voice as she spoke.

Rachel smiled, running a hand through her hair, the movement driving a stream of water onto the carpeted floor. “It’s not too bad.” Quinn wasn’t sure if this was Rachel’s typical optimistic outlook or sarcasm. If she had to pick, she’d go with optimism: Rachel was smiling despite how cold she looked, picking a towel she must have brought into the room off her shoulder and starting to dry herself off as best as she could.

“You should go shower.” Quinn said, forcing her eyes again to focus on Rachel’s face – fighting Rachel would be so much harder now that Quinn would see her costume and instantly think of her like this, soaking wet and looking irritatingly good. When had she finally given up on hiding her feelings towards Rachel?

Perhaps when the rain decided to make Quinn face how good Rachel could look when soaked through.

“I’ll go in a minute.” Rachel answered, hair frizzing up as she rubbed the water out of it. “You don’t want some company?”

How could one person be so selfless? “I’ll be fine.” Quinn replied, still smiling despite all her senses telling her not to get used to this – to having Rachel around, and being kind to her. “Your shower singing will do until you’re back and able to engage in proper conversation.”

Rachel laughed, not even embarrassed by being heard (and why should she be? Rachel was a _fantastic_ singer). “Alright. Call out any special requests.” With a wink and parting smile, Rachel headed into the bathroom.

Quinn bit her lip and stared at the wall.

This was just getting harder and harder.

\----

_After her daughter was born she was given up for adoption. Quinn didn't know the couple’s name, or what her baby girl had been called, but she was happier that way. She didn't need that burden on her._

_Quinn worked harder than she ever had before to dismiss that baby weight, and then she transferred to Thurston High. She got back her cheerleading position, and slowly began to communicate with her old friends again. Brittany and Santana had not, as Quinn expected, forgotten her. Social circles changed so rapidly in high school that it wouldn't have surprised her if the pair had forgotten her name at this point. They had made the effort to hang out, despite the great distance between their schools now. Quinn got to captain the Thurston squad, though they were hardly as successful as the Cheerio's had been. She started a celibacy club at Thurston and preached even greater the sins that came with sex before marriage. She was prom and homecoming queen, and she graduated with honours._

_The way it should be, when you were a Fabray._

\---

It had been an ordinary night – just like any other. Rachel had come in from work (this time not superhero business), and asked Quinn what she’d wanted for dinner. Quinn had been thoughtful – now that she could eat proper meals, the choices were endless – but had last decided on a salad to appeal to Rachel’s vegan tastes. As she had opened her mouth to tell Rachel, the window shattered inward.

Rachel immediately jumped away from Quinn, shards of glass coating the floor. Quinn threw her hand up to shield her eyes. A throwing knife sat amidst the destruction, and Quinn felt something sink in her stomach – certainty only increased when she felt out the person.

Santana flipped down into the room, crushing the glass further under her foot as she walked to the bed. “This is where you ended up, Q?” She was angry – it added to the mixture of emotion in the room. Confusion, sorrow, pain, anger, curiosity.

Quinn shut her eyes tight, feeling the last of her tears squeeze out as she tried to get a handle on who she was amongst the havoc – what her own feelings were. “Shut up!” She yelled at Santana, the anger so close influencing her own attitude. She was too weak to be caught between two admittedly strong personalities. Working with Santana had always been hard – her anger fuelled Quinn on, and so when the two of them got in a fight it was bound to end poorly. Then there was Rachel who was so free with her feelings, who consumed Quinn entirely in her own sorrows or joys and whatever came in the middle.

She felt Santana’s arm on hers, and the Latina leaned over, saying something that Quinn couldn’t hear past the noise in her mind.

“Touch her one more time, _Sidekick_ ,” Rachel said from across the room with a sneer, holding up her bow, “and I will make you pay.”

Santana laughed, turning between Quinn and Rachel, livid. “I’m not her _fucking_ sidekick.” Santana snarled at last, throwing a knife at the wall beside Rachel’s head. The brunette dodged, bow held, armed and at the ready, but she did not fire. “Bad enough that you fucking change sides on us, Q, but letting her call me your _sidekick_? We were _equals_.” Rachel made some threat from behind the both of them, but Santana wasn’t hearing any of it. “You backstabbing little bitch.”

“Wait! What are you here for?” Rachel cried at last, firing an arrow that stuck into the wall between Quinn and Santana. Both girls turned to stare at her.

“Just delivering a message.” She spat at Rachel, jumping back onto the windowsill. “Don’t ever think about coming back again. I should’ve known it was always about her anyway.” The Latina girl said, crouched down and arms braced against the sides of the frame.

Santana dropped out of the window completely, an arrow flying out after her.

Silence descended on the room so quickly that they both heard the far-off _chink_ of the arrow striking against bare brick and clattering to the ground.

Rachel looked lost - confused. She licked her lips, but did not speak. Instead she removed the sheath of arrows and set them on the floor, bow propped up next to them, and approached the window. She stopped, staring out into the darkness, eyes searching for something. “What did she mean?” Rachel asked, hands curling around the window frame, nothing but hones curiosity in her voice.

“I don’t know.” Quinn said, which wasn’t even a good lie - it was a terrible lie, because she knew Rachel knew, and that was it. All their bonding was for nothing – Rachel knew exactly who she was (not exactly, not Lucy-exact, but still Q-exact).

“You do know.” Rachel repeated, calm though there was a sudden wave of anger in the room, voice lacking that certain something. “What did she mean?”

Quinn swallowed and readjusted herself on the bed, brushing some shards of glass onto the floor. “What did she mean when?” Her voice was small, shrinking as she wished she could, just to escape that moment.

“She called you Q.”

It was obvious to Quinn that Rachel had already reached her own conclusion, already knew what had to be done. “I’m sorry.” Quinn said, eyes focusing on anything that wasn’t Rachel.

Rachel sighed and prodded at the shattered glass where the window was, mere minutes ago. “No you’re not.” She said, going about her night as if Quinn wasn’t sitting there - her arch nemesis, injured on her bed. “You’re not because you would’ve told me if you were.”

“Would that really have changed anything?” Quinn asked, drawing herself up on the bed, back settled in the join between two walls. This was her only defence now - having something solid at her back. She couldn’t fight, but there was that instinct in her - ever present - to keep in a position of some power.

If Rachel decided to shoot her right now, though, Quinn would be dead.

“Yes.” Rachel answered, and the brutal honesty of it astounds Quinn. She opened her mouth to respond, but Rachel silenced her with one raised hand. “No matter what you’ve done, redemption is always possible, Lucy.” And then Rachel rolled her eyes, venom dripping from her following words: “Or should I say _Q_?”

Quinn ignored her name, instead responding to Rachel’s initial statement. “No it isn’t.” She answered, just as honestly, because she knew that were are some things you couldn’t erase with the truth. Some wounds ran too deep. She knew because every day she had faced Rachel at McKinley had only deepened that one wound in her body – that wound that was almost, but not quite, self-inflicted. Her parents had put it there, but she’d continued to draw it out. Hurting Rachel had hurt her too, so much.

Rachel looked, for a moment, like she wanted to get mad; like she wants to scream and yell and throw things. And then it all changed. Her expression shifted from defiant, enraged, to something... sad and defeated. “I’m not going to throw you out like this.” She said, and Quinn knew that decision was tearing her apart: do the right thing and help Quinn, or do the right thing and turn her in? “I’ll let you get better and then you leave.”

  
It was like the light had gone out in Rachel’s eyes - that sparkle.

Because before these matters came down to the black and white - the bad and the good. Quinn was the bad, and Rachel needed to punish her. Now they were mixed in shades of grey, where the good could be bad and the bad was trying to be good.

“Alright.” Quinn whispered, but she got no reply.

\---

_It had developed during her high school career, some sense that she wasn't the same - wasn't right. It had stemmed from that first pained meeting with Rachel in the McKinley halls, and evolved into something else. Quinn had this ability to sense the emotions of others, and - as time went on - she gained the ability to alter them._

_After graduation, she had ended up in a coffee house in Columbus with Santana and Brittany, discussing possible futures. The topics had been varied, not really on the subject of their future at all, but everything they had missed._

_It was an accident that lead to this particular line of enquiry – Santana had turned around, too fast, and knocked a fresh cup of coffee off the table. It had splashed right across Quinn’s knees, the hot liquid burning through the thin fabric of her stockings and scalding her legs. Quinn cried out, hands flying to the spot, but she was beaten to it – Brittany already had her long, pale fingers pressed against Quinn’s burnt flesh, and they probed experimentally._

_In a second, the pain had stopped._

_The only staff member in the store rushed over to them. “What happened?” She asked, tea towel clutched in her hand, and her eyes took in the mess on the floor._

_Quinn was still staring at her leg, which should – by all means – still be in agonising pain. Santana took charge. “I’m sorry – I knocked it over. It’s my fault.” She said, taking the tea towel off the woman and starting to mop up the puddle on the floor. “We’ll pay for another.”_

_Brittany removed her hands, frowning, deep in thought. Quinn found her voice. “I think I’d better be going anyway.” She said, a tad breathlessly, forcing her eyes away from her legs and up to the waitress. “I’m really sorry about all of this.” She said, repeating Santana’s sentiment from earlier. Quinn placed a five on the table and stood up, stepping around the coffee-soaked tea towel on the floor._

_“Thank you.” Brittany chirped, finding her usual personality and bouncing from the store, taking Santana’s hand in her own._

_Outside it seemed that Brittany was the only one who didn’t find what had just happened unusual. “Should we… talk about this?” Quinn breached the subject as delicately as she could, smiling at the couple opposite her – or the not-couple, as they (they being Santana) still vehemently claimed._

_“Yeah.” Santana said, squeezing Brittany’s hand before releasing it. “At the apartment?” The three of them had split rent on a place, just short-term, whilst they figured out if Columbus really did hold their future._

_Quinn nodded her agreement, and they completed the short walk to the complex in silence. Emotionally, though, Santana was practically screaming – she was confused and excited and anxious. That, in itself, was not new. Quinn had always known Santana to have this certain anxiety about her, and the only thing Quinn could blame it on was the oblivious blonde at Santana’s side._

_She grounded herself in Santana’s thoughts, letting her own mixture of confusion and intrigue stew in her mind, until at last they reached the apartment building._

_They unlocked the door and settled down on the couch. Brittany lounged in an arm chair opposite them, legs propped up on the coffee table. Surprisingly, it was Britt who broke the silence. “Is that weird?” She asked, wiggling her hands in front of her face._

_“What… did you do, Brittany?” Quinn asked, brushing her hand over the skin that should be burnt – but wasn’t._

_Brittany shrugged. Santana stiffened. “I’ve always been able to do it. It’s why I never got hurt in the Cheerio’s. I just… wished you wouldn’t be burnt, and my fingers made it happen.” She was speaking to her hands, now, investigating them with a deep gaze. The fingers shifted, curling inwards in some pattern known only to Brittany. “Is it weird?” She asked again, still not removing her eyes from her hands._

_Quinn turned to look at Santana. “It’s not weird.” Quinn said, feeling as if she was confessing to some great sin. “I can – I can do… weird things too. I think.”_

_Santana’s eyes widened, and her jaw dropped, before she realised herself and corrected it. “Do tell, Fabray.”_

_The curiosity was overwhelming – strangling her, almost. “I can… feel how the people around me feel.” Quinn had never told anybody – she’d kept it her own little secret in school, ignoring how the emotions battered against her mind until she broke down or snapped at someone. No one else should know because it wasn’t right, and the Fabray’s were a family that were, if nothing else, right. “Your emotions. You’re worried, now that I’ve told you.” Quinn said, smiling faintly at Santana, who shifted away from her with a concerned look._

_“I don’t think I’m – like you.” Santana said, and there was defeat – disappointment. “Not in your magical powers way.” She said it sarcastically, with a defensive bite to her words._

_“You can run really fast.” Brittany said, dropping her hands to her lap and focusing on Santana with a smile. “And remember that time you fell off the top of the pyramid and you were fine? Maybe you’re Superman or something.”_

_Santana laughed. “I don’t think so, Britt.”_

\---

Things grew tense after that day. Quinn didn’t know what she’d been expecting, really. Had she been looking to keep this all hidden from Rachel? To get along like merry little buddies and have that be that? How did she even intend to explain her sudden disappearance from Rachel’s life once she was healed? Rachel had hinted to them being friends (and _God_ , did Quinn want nothing more than that), yet Quinn had been planning on returning to her old life as soon as she could walk without being in agonising pain. It wouldn’t have been fair on Rachel, but that was just life, wasn’t it?

Life had never really been fair to either of them.

Rachel continued on as Quinn’s caretaker, though it was all business now. There was no longer friendly conversation at Quinn’s bedside, just questions about her well-being, and what she might need.

It had been over a week since Quinn had been injured, and since then she’d done hardly anything. She’d been able to sit up, and even stand for a few minutes, but nothing more than that. “You need to have a bath.” Rachel said, eyes pointedly avoiding Quinn’s, a bundle of clothes and a fluffy towel in her hands.

Quinn nodded, stomach tensing at the thought of coming pain. Rachel made an odd expression – a grimace would be the best way to describe it, but still not quite – and placed down the things she’d been holding. “I’ve run the bath already.” She said as she approached Quinn, offering both arms out for her use.

Quinn tried to retain some independence – when it had come to bathroom journeys in the past, Rachel had had to carry her most of the way. She used one of Rachel’s hands and the headboard of the bed to get to her feet, sucking in a sharp, pained breath. “Are you okay?” Rachel’s sudden spike of sympathy betrayed the indifference in her voice. Quinn clenched her eyes shut and held her breath, nodding her head. Once the pain had passed she released the breath and opened her eyes.

So much for independence: Quinn ended up with Rachel’s arm around her middle, nearly all of her weight on Rachel’s body. Despite the fact that she’d done nothing the past few days except eat and sleep, she hadn’t put on any weight. If anything, she’d lost it. It must have been those days in which Quinn had been unable to move, to eat or drink, resigned to just lying in bed and suffering through the feverish dreams that plagued her.

Rachel made no sign that Quinn was uncomfortable for her to be half-carried into the bathroom, though Quinn mumbled a “sorry,” once they’d made it to the bathroom.

There was no answer. Quinn sat down on the toilet, lid closed, and began to unbutton the loose cotton shirt Rachel had dressed her in. Progress was slow – slow enough that Rachel stepped in and unbuttoned her shirt for her, pushing it off her shoulders. Quinn wasn’t wearing a bra, and her cheeks coloured faintly at her nudity, but now was not the time to be sensitive over things like that.

“Stand up and hold on to me.” Rachel commanded, eyes sweeping Quinn’s body just once.

Quinn did as she was told, and Rachel’s warm hands settled against her hips. They lingered a moment too long, and then she was removing Quinn’s pants, leaving her standing there in a pair of cotton panties and the bandage wrapped around her middle. “I’ll undo that.” Rachel said, gesturing at the bandage, keeping her eyes strictly on Quinn’s injury.

If her eyes did happen to slide upwards, though, Quinn would pretend not to notice. She would also have to pretend her heart didn’t skip a few beats, too.

It was hard, though, because as she sat there Quinn could feel herself awash with conflicting emotions: lust and betrayal and _need_. Without realising it, Quinn had extended her own hand, resting it on Rachel’s cheek and drawing her eyes up.

Rachel stared at her, brown eyes wide, mouth opening and closing, but no sound coming. The loose end of the bandage was in her hand, only a few more loops of the fabric remaining around Quinn’s midriff. Her tongue came out to wet her dry lips, and Quinn watched as Rachel’s eyes dropped down once more – first to her lips, and then down to her chest.

“Call me if you need anything.” Rachel said, barely above a whisper, perhaps hoping that those words would make her move.

She remained frozen in place for another minute, Quinn’s hand still on her cheek.

And then something changed – Rachel stood up. Without another word she turned and left the bathroom.

Quinn stood there, feeling the loss of Rachel’s closeness to her very bones. And then she got back to work, delicately undressing herself the rest of the way and making her way to the bath. It was slow progress, and Quinn clung to the towel rack each step of the way, but at last she made it.

Quinn sat in the tub until the water went cold, not washing herself – barely even able to move. She didn’t do anything until Rachel knocked on the door and asked if she was okay.

And then she cried.

It wasn’t much, but there were tears mixed with the bath water now. Rachel was still looking out for her, despite everything Quinn had done. All Quinn wanted to do was tell her – tell her everything. Tell her that everything she’d ever done, since that day in the care centre, had been for Rachel.

“I’m fine.” She replied, and prayed Rachel couldn’t detect her broken voice.

\---

_They’d settled into normal life in Columbus – or as normal as their life could be, knowing how different they were. Quinn quickly adapted to the feeling of having two other people around her constantly, and was soon able to ignore Santana and Brittany’s influence on her emotions._

_At first making rent had been easy – they each had savings, and their parents had funded their move in part. They’d make a month without having a job, and then they’d have to start budgeting. Santana and Brittany were the worst for spending – going out and buying things they really didn’t need._

_One day Quinn had spent out, hunting for a job within walking distance so that she wouldn’t have to waste money on cabs and public transport. She’d only been out a few hours, making the rounds with her resumes and stopping in at a local café for lunch, but when she’d returned home there was an incredibly large television sitting in the lounge. Brittany and Santana were curled up on the couch, watching the news in glorious high definition._

_“What on Earth did you buy that for?” Quinn asked, placing the few resumes she hadn’t handed out on the kitchen counter and staring at the television._

_“To watch tv.” Santana answered smartly, as Quinn came over to lean against the back of the couch (a couch that cost more than they could afford, too)._

_The current news story on the screen came to an end, and they returned to the reporter in the studio. Quinn was only half paying attention – most of her was focused on just how much that damned television would have cost them._

_She was drawn from her thoughts (it had to be at_ least _34 inches) when Brittany jumped up in the seat, waving a finger at the screen. “It’s Rachel!”_

_Quinn’s head snapped up, and she focused on the familiar face there – now matured, but still with that same light. “Why is she on the news?” Quinn asked, motioning for Santana to up the volume._

_“The city of Columbus is celebrating today, as new heroine Gold Star takes to the streets, tackling the persistent crime problem in town since the arrival of Adrenaline – a powered group of individuals attempting to dominate the enter Midwestern region. Gold Star has started her clean-up of Columbus by busting a drug deal in Hilliard today. Police estimate the confiscated goods had a street value of nearly $50,000. Here is the complete interview with our field reporter, Katherine Stone.”_

_“Hey Q, mind not tearing the couch apart?” Santana asked, poking at her clenched fists._

_Quinn couldn’t watch Rachel’s smiling face on the television screen any longer – that old pain resurfacing, worse than before, and she was sure everyone in the building felt it._

\---

Rachel had grown more distant after the bath, and Quinn had been itching to leave the place – stir crazy, you could call it. Even though she wasn’t fully healed, she couldn’t impose upon Rachel’s kindness much longer. Quinn hadn’t had anything with her when she was found, and so she’d had nothing to remove from Rachel’s place. She just got up and left the apartment whilst Rachel was out working one day – she had left a small note on the dresser, apologising for the trouble she had caused and the clothing she had borrowed.

She had a life, however lacking, to return to, and a message to deliver.

It had been slow progress – her injury healed enough that walking was bearable, but not for extended periods of time. But she did at least make it back, to the apartment the three of them had purchased so many years ago – when this had all began.

Brittany and Santana hadn’t been home at first, and so Quinn gathered the items she’d come for. Important things – bank cards and fake identification, but also a pretty necklace with a heart hung on the chain.

It took an hour or so for Brittany and Santana to arrive, and when she did Santana was immediately on edge. She moved about, restless, even as Quinn spoke. “You have to leave.”

  
Santana scoffed. “Why, because you sold us out?” She asked, storming around the apartment - one of many they owned under various pseudonyms - hands clenched into tight fists. Brittany watched Santana move with her eyes, but did not say anything. “I can’t _fucking_ believe you, Q! Crawling right into her arms - we had _everything_.” Santana stopped abruptly, turning on her heel to face Quinn. “We ran this fucking city, and you ruined the whole thing.”

Quinn stepped closer to Santana, arms folded, meeting her gaze steadily. They’d always had these issues between them - leadership things. Quinn was the sort of person people naturally deferred to, and Santana seemed torn between falling into line and staying true to her stubborn personality. “I didn’t go crawling into her arms. She shot me.” Quinn answered, voice level and calm. “And just think… if I could get hurt out there, so could you.” Santana laughed, looking over her shoulder at Brittany as if to say _‘what is she on about?’_

What Quinn said next drew all the laughter from Santana: “So could Britt.”

“That’s not fucking funny, Q.” Santana snapped back at her, and now Brittany came over to stand beside them. She still said nothing, fidgeting with the hem of her dress.

“No, it really isn’t. It hurts like a bitch.” Quinn replied, still in some pain though Brittany had done her best to heal her. “What would you do if it wasn’t me who got shot? It was Brittany? What th-”

“-why does it fucking matter?” Santana was clearly flustered and stormed off again, pushing some photo frames (filled with generic stock photos - no use putting identifiers in their apartment in case they were found out) to the ground. Brittany flinched when they shattered, and moved to pick up the glass.

Quinn sighed, watching as Brittany cut her hands on the glass, only to heal the wounds seconds later. “Don’t act like I don’t know.”

Santana looked between Quinn and Brittany, several curses dying on her tongue. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She settled on at last, tone venomous.

The fact that, mere seconds later, Santana went to help Brittany pick up the glass really did tell all. Santana didn’t help people unless it benefited her in some way - or it was Britt. Quinn stood there, silently watching them work, hands brushing together more often than they should.

“I called the police.” Quinn said once they had thrown out the broken frames, Santana still apologising quietly to Brittany. “Get what’s valuable out of here and the other places and then go.”

“What do you mean, go?” Santana asked, violent temper placated by Brittany who was smoothing a hand up and down her back.

Quinn shrugged. “Go somewhere outside of Columbus, at least for a little while. The police will find each of the apartments in turn, and The Unholy Trinity will disband. Live whatever life you want - there’s enough money between us to make it happen.”

“This is my life.” Santana fired back. “ _Our_ life. We built it and we earned it. Why should we give all this up because you had to go fuck around with the enemy?”

“The reason this started is because I wanted to protect - … _her_. And what happened just goes to show how quickly you can lose everything.” A little higher and the arrow would have pierced her lung - with how long Quinn had blacked out for in the warehouse, she wouldn’t survive a blow like that. “I don’t want this life any more. Rachel can look after herself, and so can we.”

Brittany spoke at last, taking Santana’s hand in her own. “I’ve always wanted to go to LA.” She mumbled, a tentative smile in place as she looked at Santana.

The Latina was clearly unimpressed, but melted - as Quinn knew she would - under Brittany’s attentions. “I still can’t fucking believe you, going and doing this.” Santana said, though she was drained. She turned to look at Brittany, clasping the blonde’s hands between both of her own. “LA, baby?” Santana asked with more affection than Quinn would have ever expected from her.

Quinn walked slowly, mindful of reopening her wound. She leaned up to kiss Brittany on the cheek, and then met Santana’s eyes. “Good luck.” In her hands she held the small bag filled with her necessities for the future.

“You too, Q.” Brittany replied, smiling a little at her rhyme. Santana squeezed her shoulder, nodding her head upwards in some show of respect or understanding - something. The emotion was unidentifiable.

“Maybe we’ll see you around sometime.” Santana said.

Quinn smiled back. “Send me a postcard.”

“We will!” Britt promised as Quinn walked out of that apartment - out of that life - forever.

The only thing she had left to do then was destroy the last piece of evidence – her suit.

As soon as she had sent Brittany and Santana away, she returned to the warehouse that had led to her downfall, glancing around at the seemingly pristine interior. Their cleaning crew had certainly done a good job, removing any evidence that there had been a fight there. Quinn walked around, remembering the area well - that table had been where the deal went wrong, that container had been the one Rachel was hiding behind the whole time, and just down this walkway was where Quinn had fallen. All the blood had been removed, and one would never know that anything more than storage went on here.

Clean up hadn’t been informed about the hidden suit, however.

Quinn levered open the crate she had hidden the bloody garments in, pulling them out one at a time. They had gone stiff with dried blood and the smell was repulsive. She dropped them in a heap on the floor, nose scrunched up with distaste.

From her pocket Quinn removed a lighter, which she set on top of the clothing. She stomped on the container, heel of her shoe puncturing the plastic and leaving the lighter fluid to spill out over the clothing. From her pocket she then removed another lighter – it never hurt to come prepared –, bending down to set the clothes alight.

The flames caught her hand, and Quinn dropped the second lighter, which exploded with a small pop. She considered monitoring the fire, ensuring it didn’t get out of hand, but then she changed her mind.

She was breaking all ties with her past life.

She let the warehouse burn.

\---

_“Your girlfriend’s on the front of the paper.” Santana commented around a mouthful of toast. “_ Again _. You know, this is starting to get kinda lame. Why should she get all the attention? We can do stuff she can’t.” She waved about her second bit of toast for effect, sprinkling crumbs across the table._

_Quinn looked at the mess distastefully, stirring her own cereal. “She’s doing a good thing. Leave her alone.”_

_Santana rolled her eyes dramatically. “Berry is, and has always been, an annoying goodie two shoes. I say we knock her down a peg or two. She’s getting cocky – these Adrenaline kids don’t know anything.” Santana’s certainty implied some history in the path of crime, and Quinn really wouldn’t be surprised if that was true. Santana held some close attachment to her Lima Heights heritage._

_“What are you suggesting?” Quinn asked, allowing her curiosity to draw the question from her._

_“I dunno.” Santana said, shrugging and folding up the newspaper, pushing it over to Quinn’s side of the table. “Scope out some of Adrenaline’s people, see if we can’t improve on their work. I kinda like the big screen lifestyle we’re living now – and I’d rather rob a bank than work for my money.” Santana’s open honesty was worrisome, but also intriguing at the same time._

_“You can scope them out.” Quinn said, flicking the paper open again to look at Rachel’s face. “I’m going to get a job the old fashioned way.” She shut the paper and went back to her cereal, ignoring Santana’s plotting._

_Getting close to Rachel (again) was not something Quinn wanted to do._

\---

Walking from the warehouse, Quinn took the same route she’d left the first time – only more aware of herself, and clothed, on this occasion. The alley was dirty, cast in perpetual shadow, though she caught something up ahead. At first it was the feeling – superiority, emanating confidence (somehow that feeling reminded her of someone, a man from years ago) – and then the barely concealed body, leaning against a dirty brick wall.

“The infamous Q, head of The Unholy Trinity.” The man said, pushing away from the wall and approaching Quinn. She kept her chin up, and faced the stranger down. “Ruling body of Columbus – the final gem The Warblers needed to have all of Ohio.” He walked right by her, and Quinn smiled, dropping her head.

“So that’s what this is?” She asked, not bothering to turn, able to gauge the other’s position by his own self-confidence. The weakness in his strength. Just like Jesse. “The wonderful Sebastian Smythe pays _me_ a visit?”

Sebastian came to stand at her side, their shoulders brushing together. Quinn tried not to shudder. “I’m here to say thank you, Q.” He nudged her, and she nudged back. “And to give you fair warning – you can live here in peace, but step in and it will mean war, my dear.” His voice took on a gruff quality, a growl, something feral.

Quinn stepped away from him. “I’m not going to involve myself in your affairs.” She said, curtly, turning to look over his shoulder at him. “Take care of her.” Quinn said, and to this day still could not say whether her meant Columbus itself, or its protector. Maybe both.

Sebastian grinned, and the light caught on his teeth. “Oh, I will – believe me.”

The sound of sirens drove the pair of them their separate ways, and Quinn hoped to never see Sebastian again.

\---

_And yet she was roped into it._

_Quinn sighed as she pulled the hoodie over her head, shielding her face from view. Santana had demanded (and Santana could be painfully persuasive at times) that they each go out and just give it a try. Each of them pick out a known – known to the right (or wrong) people, at least – member of Adrenaline and follow them. See if they could find Rachel._

_Quinn wasn’t sure who Brittany and Santana had gotten, but she’d been asked to tail a guy called Jesse. So far all Quinn had discovered about him was he was quite oblivious, and extremely full of himself – she could feel his self-confidence from a mile away._

_After following him to dinner and a film, Quinn was about ready to get out of his range and never think of him again. He was rude and cocky and she didn’t want anything to do with him or his gang._

_They finally left the theatre and were headed back to his apartment. As soon as it got too suspicious to follow him further, Quinn had instructions to turn and go back to their apartment._

_And she was close – so close._

_They were in a rougher part of town, now. Most of the buildings were old and decrepit, and the corner block was levelled entirely – now just a mess of dead grass and rubble. Jesse, with no concern for his nice clothes, began to swiftly cross that empty block, whilst Quinn hung back, contemplating how much further she should follow. By now they were well and truly alone, and it was only years spent sneaking around her own home that had her light-footed enough to get this far without being caught. Was it worth risking her luck further, though? She hadn’t really discovered anything about Jesse, and she was sure Santana and Brittany would’ve bailed by now to go enjoy their new big screen._

_“Stop right there!” The voice that came out of nowhere caused Quinn to jump up, head snapping to the side to where Rachel stood._

_She was in her Gold Star gear, bow and arrow in her hand. Quinn instinctively stepped back, falling into the shadow cast by an old building. Jesse was halfway across the abandoned block, and his head snapped up to focus on Rachel. Though she couldn’t be sure, Quinn didn’t think she’d been detected yet – Jesse and Rachel were focused on one another._

_“Gold Star, that’s cute.” Jesse said, sliding his hands into his pockets, still emanating that same, disgusting self-confidence. “I’m going to give you this one chance now to turn around and walk away. I suggest you take it – I’m not usually so generous.”_

_Rachel drew herself up to full height, aim not wavering. The arrow was ready to fire at any moment, straight through Jesse’s smug face. Quinn wouldn’t be upset if it did. “No. I’m doing the right thing for the people here. You leave them alone.”_

_Jesse pulled one hand from his pocket and checked over his nails, before at last replying. “I don’t think I will.” And then he drew his other hand out, holding a handgun – firm and confident. He’d used it before, that was obvious._

_Quinn felt her stomach drop._

_“Last chance.” Jesse said, now purely business. He raised the gun and aimed it straight at Rachel._

_Fear swept across Quinn, and if Jesse could have felt it she was sure he would have been sadistic enough to laugh. “No. I won’t.” Rachel said, acting as if the words would make her stronger._

_“That’s cute.” Jesse said, and Quinn could feel his certainty. There would be no games played here tonight – there would be a bullet, and a bothersome pest removed from the picture forever._

_Quinn didn’t have any means to protect or save Rachel. Not that she knew of, exactly. She did the only thing she knew – concentrated absolutely everything on Jesse. Every fear she had ever felt, every pain she had ever endured, every joy she had experienced. It was draining – taking every sense and forcing it into him, his fragile psyche – but she couldn’t let Rachel die there._

\---

Once that was done – the ties to her past life severed – Quinn went back to just being Lucy.

It hadn’t been Lucy’s intention to stumble upon what she did. She’d promised herself that she’d steer well clear of Rachel and The Warblers and anything to do with crime. She was Lucy now, she told herself. Lucy had a tiny apartment in the bad part of town, struggled to find work (but had the money to pay rent on the apartment for the next hundred years – and a nicer one if she desired it, but Lucy wasn’t worth that), and spent most of her days reading by the window. She didn’t often leave her apartment, but today she needed groceries, and had reluctantly gotten up in the late evening to go buy them – Lucy didn’t want many people to see her.

With brown hair and glasses back on her face, Lucy bundled herself up to face the cold night.

As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t tune out the feelings all around her. Quinn had gotten used to having all that emotion swirling around her: had come to thrive off of the power to pick and choose and control and change. Lucy had locked herself away in her apartment, and now being so close to that emotion put her off.

A woman passed her by in an obscenely happy mood, and Lucy flinched at how sickening the joy was.

When had she become this? When had she allowed the repressed memories of a childhood crush – nothing more – to taint her outlook on the future? Quinn had contained that resentment, bottled it down and taken it out on people at choice moments. Lucy broadcast it, her own self-loathing smothering the happiness that passed her by.

After that woman had passed, her day certainly dampened by the experience, Lucy noticed something else out of the ordinary. The feelings were loud, screaming _fight_ at her. It was like being around Santana again, the chaos of the emotions striking her, only there was no control. There was a battle, that much Lucy knew, and her feet carried her towards the discord.

There were thoughts spiralling in there that Quinn – not Lucy – knew all too well.

Rachel’s thoughts.

“You’re a pretty girl, Rachel.” She heard first, slowing so that she would not be heard. It was an abandoned building in the rougher part of town, an apartment complex with broken walls and sagging floors, but miraculously standing. Q – for it was her now taking charge – pressed gently against a wooden door, rotted through from the wet and general abuse. The hinges protested loudly, and Q was sure they would have heard the shriek of it, but all that came from in the building was laughter.

“I won’t stand for this in my city!” Rachel cried, Quinn sensing her desperation and Q acting on it.

She slid through the gap in the door, establishing her surroundings. Where she stood would have originally been the backroom – a place for any staff members working the front desk to hide out, but ultimately small and dark. Perfect. Gold Star and Sebastian (there were only two minds there, that Quinn could separate) must be in larger entrance of the building.

Keeping close to the wall for cover, Q moved with skill and speed, not making a single sound. Her mind wasn’t wholly focused on the noise outside her – right now it was just banter, a challenge. But the vibes she got from Sebastian were not all friendly: they were rough-edged, barbed.

They were not the thoughts of somebody who simply wished to talk.

Q had been taking her time in the purpose of maintaining her anonymity, slowly navigating past leftover furniture in the dark. She couldn’t afford to be found unless it was on her own terms – even now, she needed the control.

She was an arm’s length from the door when a gun fired, and Lucy’s heart shattered. It was then that she leapt forward and flung open the door, an arrow narrowly missing her face as she did so.

Rachel looked at her with wide eyes, and then back at Sebastian. Quinn had opened the door so that she stood facing Rachel, and able to exploit Sebastian’s weak spot – but not for long. The door had come right off its hinges with the sudden force, and dropped to the ground with a heavy _thud_.

It all happened in slow motion, and Quinn barely thought about it. She let her emotions, pent up from decades ago, and her talents, built up over years of doing the wrong thing, to guide her.

Q and Lucy – they came together to complete her now, and Quinn crossed the distance between her and Sebastian in seconds. He was mid-turn, gun raised and ready to aim at whoever had interrupted him. Quinn didn’t even stop to check if Rachel was okay – she’d heard the bullet, known it wasn’t from the Gold Star, and acted.

She and Sebastian hit the floor. Quinn pulled no punches – she attacked him physically and mentally, assaulting him with whatever she had on hand. She didn’t have the sense and focus to assault him with emotions alone – something she knew from past experience could kill, if used correctly – but it did a good job anyway.

From Sebastian’s dazed hands, Quinn snatched the gun and turned it on him. “Don’t you fucking _dare_.” She snarled, everything tuned out – Rachel’s yelled demands for an explanation, whatever Sebastian was saying beneath her, and the emotions surging around her. “I have spent _years_ of my life protecting her, and you will _not_ take her away from me.”

Sebastian dredged up a weak smirk. “I said don’t interfere, Q.” He bit back, and Quinn smacked him across the cheek with the gun.

“Don’t even _think_ about staying here.” She pressed the muzzle against his temple, eyes hard with anger – both borrowed and her own. “You leave tonight. You take the Warblers with you. If I see you again, I will kill you.” Quinn jabbed the gun into the side of his head. “Understand?”

Pride conflicted with common sense, and Quinn knew men who would have rather die beneath her than run away. Sebastian was smarter – or at least not as cocky. Once Quinn climbed off him he left without a single glance at either of them – he refrained from running, but his pace was rushed and his emotions swung back and forth between terrified and agitated.

\---

_Jesse was not used to the constant emotional barrage Quinn was._

_He let out a shriek, high-pitched and breaking, as he dropped to the ground._

_Quinn opened her eyes – she hadn’t even realised they were shut – and looked at him. No feeling came from his body. There was nothing. Had he died? Had she_ killed _him?_

_With trembling hands, Quinn reached down her shirt and pulled out her necklace. She held the heart up to her lips, kissing it gently, feeling the glitter glue rough against her lip. Rachel’s hands were shaking too, but she lowered the bow, eyes roaming the abandoned lot to find her saving grace. She wouldn’t see Quinn there – blending in to the shadows, perfectly still._

“I’ll love you too. Forever.”

_If she couldn’t have Rachel, she’d protect her. She’d made a promise so many years ago, and even if Rachel didn’t remember, Quinn did._

_And so she had gone home that night and founded The Unholy Trinity – an organisation that did bad, but for a good reason._

_To keep Rachel safe._

_Even if she’d never had her, Quinn couldn’t lose Rachel._

\---

Everything was eerily silent. Quinn licked her lips, and then a hand dipped under her shirt to retrieve the tiny heart hanging on a chain. “When I said forever, I meant it.” She said as she held the charm against her palm for Rachel to see, eyes timidly seeking her out.

She watched as recognition washed over Rachel’s face, and in the soft light Quinn thought she saw tears. Slowly Rachel closed the distance between them, bow dropped off to her side. “Lucy? _Lucy?_ ” She asked, timid. “After all this time? You were – you _can’t_ be – I... I knew – I mean… I thought… _maybe_ …” Rachel’s voice broke and came to a halt in front of Quinn, first tear sliding down her cheek. From there, it was like a dam collapsing: tears came, as well as feelings, the most prominent of all in the tumultuous mix was something quite like love.

Quinn laughed. “Forever is a long time.” She said, pulling Rachel Berry – _her_ Gold Star – into her arms at last.

“Shall we get started, then?” Rachel asked – and Quinn knew there would be so much work ahead of them, but that didn’t matter, because right now they were both ready to _try_. They both acted, heads coming closer together until their lips met in a kiss that promised eternity.


End file.
